Sweet Tarts
by Stealth Phoenix
Summary: Sequel to Bittersweet Symphony. Life in Candy Land isn't all it's cracked up to be. Is blood really thicker than water or does one choose who they call family?
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to another tale from the factory…_

_The outcry for more was so great that Mr. Wonka and Ms. Carmichael allowed me, a humble author to chronicle their trials and tribulations interspaced with surreal moments of pure weirdness. Thanks go to all my faithful readers for supporting my feeble efforts. Now – to chant the magic words…_

…_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work._

_Let the show begin!_

– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 1**

A moment of peace.

That's all she really needed right now. Just a quiet moment to herself – a few hours alone with her thoughts without anyone or anything pressing for her attention, her presence or her energy.

Long practice kept her most fervent wish from showing on her face, but the terrible longing was enough to cause Veronica's heart to beat hard in her chest. She nodded to a quasi-familiar face in the brightly colored throng in the overheated room, but inside she was ready to scream.

Her smile felt as brilliant and brittle as the candy glass for which she was most famous.

The swirling masses, the punishing glare of the overhead lights glinting against multiple reflective surfaces and gleaming white linen all felt like a burning push against her eyeballs.

Six months since the debacle on Food Network and the media attention still hadn't died down. Invitations poured in from the four corners of the globe begging for attendance to one thing or the other. Her weak point of supporting charities was discovered and mercilessly exploited.

Charlie at least had the benefit of having good parents who knew where to draw the line for their budding confectioner. Willy could plead for extreme discomfort in such crowded conditions and his notoriety for solitude was infamous.

She on the other hand felt compelled to do what she could to try and make the world a better place, using her recognition and acquired wealth to try and shift the system into swifter action to protect the innocent and support those less fortunate. If it involved showing up to look pretty while choking down a bit of rubber chicken, so be it.

"Veronica! Darling! How good to see you?" gushed an older woman who had apparently undergone one too many shots of Botox judging by the unnatural stillness of her features. The stick thin arms embraced her.

Veronica forced a bit of genuine warmth into her eyes at the ridiculous woman. Bad personal judgment of plastic surgeon aside, Mrs. Henry Worthington the third was a devout champion to abused children and worked hard hosting these events to raise the funds for the three orphanages and half-way houses for woman seeking escape from abusive spouses.

"Mrs. Worthington, hello!" Veronica said releasing the older woman. "Another lovely dinner. Thank you again for inviting me."

"Always a pleasure my dear. I understand young Charlie couldn't make it due to exams, but where is your beau?" Mrs. Worthington twittered, clasping her thin wrinkled hands together.

"Mr. Wonka has been detained at his factory. He asked me to covey his apologies," Veronica lied smoothly. Internally she sighed and felt another hot pinch of disappointment at Willy's evasion of yet another event planned on attending jointly and ditched at the last moment.

It wasn't like she really wanted to be her right now either. A new Terry Pratchett book had just come out and a quiet evening at home reading curled up on the couch with a pot of green tea close at hand sounded like some unachievable utopia at the moment.

But Willy had promised to come with her this time. It would have been their excuse to leave after an hour. Now, thanks to his absence, she had no excuse to leave early and was now working on clinging to what little charm she had left after nearly 14 hours hard at work and now three hours standing in three and a half inch stiletto heels.

Veronica let Mrs. Worthington guide her around the room, introducing her to face after face that she had no inclination or energy to remember. _God, she was tired_.

Finally, she realized that staring blankly at a Chinese curio cabinet was not doing anyone any good and that she had reached the end of her tether.

"Mrs. Worthington? I apologize, but I do have an early showing tomorrow morning and need to get home. Thank you for the lovely dinner and I hope you raised the funds needed to replace the roof on the Church Street Orphanage," Veronica said, over the light protest of her hostess.

One of the catering staff stood at Mrs. Worthington's elbow, gently attracting her attention on some matter so she let Veronica slip out with minimal fuss.

_Thank you for small favors,_ she thought to whatever deity had taken mercy on her at the moment.

She slipped from the crowded room, giving small smiles to those who greeted her. She casually grabbed her coat and handbag and walked decisively out the back door.

There was a small group of men clustered around a small gardening shack toward the rear of the garden that had been converted to a small waiting area for the duration of the part. The men were chauffeurs for the guest inside. Hearing her footsteps crunching across the gravel of the path, they warily drew themselves to attention.

"Evenin' gents," she smiled wearily at them as she passed and headed toward the purple limo waiting in the back of the lot. "You lot getting hungry?"

"A quick bite wouldn't be unwelcome," one tall, graying man wearing an old-fashioned driver's uniform spoke for the group.

"Right. Head back to the kitchen – tell Sandra that Veronica says that the nibbles were great and to feed you gentlemen up. Just because the nobs are in swanning around doesn't mean everyone has to suffer," she said, giving them a quick wink.

The older gentleman grinned back and touched the visor of his hat, "Right you are Miss. Thanks for looking out for us."

Happy that at least part of this evening didn't feel like a complete waste of her time she walked up to the tinted window of the driver's door and tapped. There was a startled rustle inside and the window rolled down.

The tiny figure of her driver, Spie-Di, looked up at her from his modified seat guiltily, fumbling to set the - to him - oversized copy of the very book she'd been longing to read earlier aside. "Ready to head back?" he asked.

Grimacing, she nodded, "Pop the locks and let's get out of here."

As she climbed inside and shut the door she sighed, "I'm rather envious of your right now Spie-Di. All curled up in here in the peace and quiet. How about next time you wear the dress and heels and I drive you?"

"No thanks. The dress would look horrible on me and those shoes? They make my bum look huge." The Oompa Loompa said smoothly, starting up the engine and pulling out of the long gravel driveway back toward the gates of Mrs. Worthington's estate.

Closing her eyes, she felt the world whirl around her - too much to think of, not enough time to do it all and actually feel like she was enjoying life. It was a frequent regret that she felt like her life was stuck on fast forward. She'd gone back to skimping on sleep and eating just to meet the demand.

Glancing at the thin fashionable watch on her wrist, she groaned at the time. Nearly midnight. She'd been up and moving since 4:30 that morning and faced another day just like it. This manic pace was killing her. Even so, she only had herself to blame for this burden – she'd undertaken the effort to bring Wonka Inc and her own Carmichael Creations to the public and act as the 'official' representative for both companies in the public eye. The chore had been undertaken as a means to an end but had mutated and grown beyond recognition.

Veronica kicked off her shoes and curled up on the seat, allowing herself to drift off with fanciful daydreams of just relaxing and spending some quiet time with her fiancée.

If it wasn't for the fact that she knew that Willy worked just as hard if not harder keeping his business going and training Charlie for eventual command of the factory, she'd be more resentful. No wonder the man seemed like he was on a constant sugar high – he needed it to stay on top of things.

We need a vacation, Veronica though idly. Someplace private and quiet.

She must have dozed off, because she was startled awake when Spie-Di tapped on the glass as he pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building.

She gathered up her shoes and bag and slid out of the car, waving to the Oompa Loompa as she unlocked the building and slipped inside.

The tile was cool against her stockinged feet and she ignored the elevator to take the stone stairs two at a time, hiking the dress above the knees to give her the range of motion she needed. The burn of her thighs as she moved felt good and for a brief moment, she felt free of the constraints that held her back. No need to look or act proper – no audience to judge her or make comments about being "unladylike". Inside these walls she was free to act as she chose.

She reached the top floor and dropped the skirt of the dress, fumbling with the keys to unlock the door of her apartment.

Inside she leaned against the door with the lights off for a long moment. The brief spurt of activity pushed back the exhaustion and frustrations of the day for a moment allowing her to think clearly. She gazed at her apartment, at the few things she had been able to accumulate since the previous year that marked it as hers. Photographs lined the walls, books and papers stacked on the table tops, the laptop computer sitting open on her coffee table, with its golden "W" screensaver spinning on the screen.

She dropped the shoes by the door and shrugged out of the coat, hanging it neatly on the hook on the back of the door. Exhaustion was creeping back in, but she wanted to check and see what Willy was up to before crashing.

Veronica took the time to collect a large glass of milk, wash her face free of cosmetics and slip into her ever comfortable sweatpants and oversized tee shirt with thick wooly socks before planting herself on the couch and collecting the laptop from its resting place.

Clicking on, she could see a few messages waiting for her. Smiling slightly she clicked on the one from Charlie first. He had taken a few minutes to recall his day for her amusement, ranting about the fickle nature of girls in general and nebulous natured relationship with young Meggan in specific. Apparently a careless comment about an unflattering colored shirt had sent them into "off" territory again. Bewildered Charlie was pleading for advice.

_Poor lad_, she thought with amusement. She took a moment to do her best to translate girl speak into something Charlie could understand_. Some judicious application of flattery and honest appreciation would go a long way toward repairing things_, she wrote. Some suggestions added good illustrations of what she meant.

Satisfied that her advice wouldn't make things worse, she sent the message.

The second message was from Spencer with some strange website using World of Warcraft animated figures in a music video. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she sent a quick synopsis of her evening and a scathing review of the attendees and their fashion sense.

The last message was from Willy.

_Good evening Starshine,_

_Just dropping you a quick line to let you know that, yes, I am still alive – just trapped in the taffy puller room at the moment trying to fix the conveyer belt that somehow got entangled in the actual puller itself. I have no idea how it happened – looks pretty interesting though. I'm taking a quick break before diving back in – there's three workers trapped in the taffy and a long evening of getting them out ahead. I'm sorry to have to abandon you to yet another mindless charity dinner by yourself (okay – I'm not sorry to miss the dinner myself, but sorry that you were inflicted with it.) I miss you._

_Love Willy (aka. Hunny-Bunny?)_

_P.S. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I've got an idea I'd like to pitch to you. Red pepper cream cheese sandwiches will be present…_

Veronica groaned –she didn't have the time to meet for lunch as she was supposed to be presenting a commissioned piece across town, but the temptation of her favorite lunch treat was too much to resist.

Besides, it had in fact been almost three days since actually seeing her beloved face-to-face.

Making an executive decision, she wrote back.

_Hunny-Bunny? (Urk…with a side of stunned disbelief at the saccharine nature of your suggestion)_

_Yet another evening of grip-n-grins out of the way – your presence was dearly missed. I really could have used your biting sense of humor to help me keep perspective of all those stuffed shirts, but what can I say, I understand the needs of the factory come first. (Conveyer belt in the taffy puller?!? I've got to hear the rest of this tale.)_

_My only wish was that I had such a convenient excuse as well to miss the event and actually read PTerry's latest (I know you're a speed reader and have already devoured it. Don't give me any spoilers – I'll kill you!)_

_I'll jostle things around so I can meet you for lunch at 11:30. Here or there?_

_I'm turning in. Join me later if you want for some 'Z's. Otherwise I'll see you then._

_Missing you terribly, _

_Love Veronica_

Yawning, she flipped off the computer and returned it to the coffee table – willfully ignoring the clutter and face down books in the way.

Finishing her glass of milk, she rinsed and left the glass in the sink before staggering toward her bedroom, the last of her energy running out of her like a sieve.

She flopped face down into the bed, eyes drifting close even as she groped for the feather duvet to pull over her weary body. Without another thought, Veronica was out.

-----

In the living room, under the carelessly placed laptop was a stack of unopened mail collected earlier that afternoon and just as quickly placed aside in the rush to get ready for the dinner.

Third down in the stack was an envelope of heavy papayrus paper. The handwritten script face down on the front of the envelope was innocuous in its plain font, but the name and address on the upper left corner was far from innocent in its intentions.

Mr. & Mrs. Robert Carmichael

Rosebriar Cottage, #4 Foxborough Lane

Cheltham, Gloucestershire, GL50 1PJ, England


	2. Chapter 2

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 2**

***Clank***

"Okay, turn it just slightly…"

***Clink***

"Good. Now, eeeeaaase it over slowly and…"

***Sproing***

There was a groan of exasperation from the prone figure on the floor under the massive machine. The pointed toed boots with black pant legs rose slightly above the tops of the extravagant footwear to revealed brightly striped socks as the legs squirmed slightly with the effort being exerted underneath.

"Great – there went three hours of work down the toilet. Okay, Orville? See if you can reach the spring and kick it back over here. Let's try this again – if this doesn't work, we're going to have to order another one."

There were some muffled grunts and some softly breathed swearing as the spring snapped back and nearly took off the tips of the fingers carefully covered by thick leather work gloves. There was a wetness seeping through the canvas apron covering his chest and the figure under the machine tilted his head to see what was leaking.

"Argh! Get me a pan! Get me a pan! I've got hydraulic fluid leaking here…" the light tenor male voice yelped in alarm as more fluid seeped from the machine.

The flat rectangular pan slid next to him and he snatched it and placed it on his chest under the leak, "Thank you."

Blowing the thick mahogany colored hair out of his eyes once again, the man gritted bright white teeth and used what strength remained in his upper body to stretch out the spring. With trembling hand he managed to loop the extended wire over the protruding head of the screw and with frantic motions fumbled for the screwdriver.

"I think…I've…got it!" he announced triumphantly as the extended spring held and the fluid leak stopped. "You know, putting the hydraulic fluid drain behind the belt tension adjustment knob was a bad idea – maybe I need to retrofit this thing…" he thought out loud, tightening the screw with decisive jerks. He gently slid the half-filled pan to one side and nudged it out from under the machine.

"Hey Orville, check the fluid and make sure we're not running dry. Looks like a quart or two here." He called to the waiting pair of tiny feet in white socks and black sneakers that waited patiently by the machine.

The man pulled with his legs and scooted out from under the machine. The flat rolling platform rolled easily along the bright red concrete form to reveal the long lanky form of the machine's owner.

Willy Wonka heaved himself to his feet and with fussy gestures, slipped off the stained apron, grimacing at the feeling of the cool wet liquid saturating his clothes. He dropped the apron into a waiting wastebasket and stripped off the leather gloves, revealing latex glove clad hands. He tugged futilely on the ruined vest and dark shirt before noticing the dampness against his fingertips

Inspecting the fingertips of his gloves, he found that the spring had indeed ripped through the protective covering. He snapped the gloves off and pulled another set out of the inner pocket of his bright purple vest, doing his best to ignore the sticky feeling.

Crossing over to an industrial sink, he laid the waiting gloves to one side and washed his hands, convulsively, scrubbing at the pale skin with the provided medical-grade antibacterial soap, "Any luck?" he called out to his assistant.

There was a clang as the small face of Ori-Vil, maintenance supervisor of the factory peered down at his employer from atop the machine.

Ori-Vil was one of the tribe of Oompa Loompa that inhabited and worked at the factory. The diminutive members of the tribe only came mid-way up to a grown man's thigh, but their long years of surviving some of the most dangerous jungles in the world had taught them innovative ways of adapting to a world built for someone five times their size. Their cheerful outlook and common sense approach to many of the unusual problems that pop up around the factory were invaluable to Willy.

Orville held up a thumb in approval and quickly refastened the probe back into the machine. With a satisfied clap of his hands, he leapt off the top of the machine, twisting like a cat in midair to land neatly on his feet.

As Willy dried his hands and replaced the ruined gloves, Orville moved around to the control consol and flipped a switch. With a clatter the machine swung into action – multiple arms flashing in the light as it warmed, kneaded and wrapped his patented Laffy Taffy treats.

Nodding in satisfaction, he exchanged low-fives with his assistant, "Great job!"

Orville grinned up at the big man and with a mischievous smile, pointed to the clock on the wall. In the spirit of nonconformity, the clock in this particular room was a google-eyed cat whose eyes swung side to side with each tick of the clock. Its furry paws pointed out to Willy's dismay that it was in fact, 3 a.m.

"Good gravy – that late?" Willy groaned, clapping one hand to his forehead. "Veronica's gonna kill me."

Orville chuckled heartlessly at his employer's plight.

Willy glared down at the little man, "Hey, I didn't have to come down and help you. I could have gone off to that ghastly dinner and left you to your own devices."

Orville spoke for the first time in many hours, "Yes, you could have."

Willy was still rambling, "I could have listen to pointless stories all night. I could have been bored out of my skull and pinned in by boney old ladies smelling vaguely of cats instead of crawling around under leaky machines, wrestling with broken springs." There was a humorous glint in those violet eyes even as it seemed like he was working himself into a frenzy over missing the charity dinner. "Darn it Orville – I could have had the rubber chicken!"

Orville gave Willy a knowing look, "Right."

One corner of the Chocolatier's mouth curled in amusement, "Yes. And you know how much I hated missing that."

The Oompa Loompa smothered a chuckle. Willy's tactics for missing public appearances were legendary and one of the closest held secrets of his maintenance supervisor. Any broken machine would constitute a legitimate excuse to gracefully bow out of going out.

Even if he had to order Orville to break the machine himself.

"Yes. It is a shame that you had to miss all of that to tend to a broken machine that just as easily could have been fixed by one of my teams in the morning without your assistance," Orville said in a carefully nonchalant voice.

"Indeed," Willy sniffed, tugging at his shirt sleeves to avoid Orville's eyes for a moment – forgetting about the ruined nature of the shirt in question. The faint hint of color at his cheeks indicated that he actually was slightly ashamed of his avoidance techniques, but not so much to actually give them up.

"Veronica will forgive you. Although, you should come up with something to get her out of attendance as well. You know as well as I do she hates going to those things almost as much as you do." Orville said.

Willy looked properly ashamed this time, rubbing the back of his neck and shuffling his feet, "Yeah. I know. I've got to come up with something to make it up to her…"

Orville pressed in eagerly, this was a point that had been weighing heavily on the tribe for months.

"How about a vacation?"

Willy stopped shuffling and looked at the tiny man in surprise, "Huh?"

"You two need to take a break and get away for a while. If one of you isn't careening off in some direction, the other is. You are both too busy and need to spend more time together. How do you ever expect to pass the marriage rites if you never see her?" Orville scolded.

The tall man collected his famous top hat and placed in on his head with a thump, rolling his eyes at the Oompa Loompa. He had been ignoring more and more blatant hints about his and Veronica's relationship from his workers over the past month. He knew they were getting anxious for some reason. Besides it wasn't like it was any of their business anyway…

"You two need to be learning of each other while you have the chance - your likes, dislikes and the tides of your emotions in close quarters. Where one speaks the other needs to be able to finish the sentence," Orville insisted.

Willy started walking toward the rooms' exit, glancing amused from the corner of his eye down at the determined man at his side, "Really? Is that what you think?"

The Oompa Loompa nodded, "Yes, it is the way of our tribe that once the woman has agreed to become the man's wife, that the couple is segregated from the tribe and regular duties before marriage for at least a month to allow them to grow together as a couple before taking on the challenges of the marriage itself."

Willy paused – for all that he has spent years with the tribe, this was the first he'd ever heard of this custom, "Really? The honeymoon before the marriage? Not a bad idea…"

"Yes – it is a good test for compatibility, especially for those who are in arranged marriages."

Willy mulled over the idea, "What happens when they don't get along?"

"We usually come by in the mornings to check and make sure that they're both still alive. We've only had to clean up the bloodshed and call Dev-On once or twice since moving here." Orville said in an off-manner way.

Willy was suddenly forcibly reminded of the sometimes violent nature of the gentle tribe. Each member was a capable warrior no stranger to bloodshed.

_Yeah. Domestic disturbances are no joke around here…_

"I don't think she'll have my guts for garters over being late, but the vacation is still a good idea. She's been running herself ragged and a break might be just the thing to recharge the ol' batteries. I vaguely remember starting to put something like this together before though…" Willy mused trying to figure out why the idea seemed so familiar.

Something tugged him to the dark days before the competition. Willy remembered talking to Spencer and Reggie about something…

Bloody explosion knocked more out of him than he cared to admit.

His memory of that time was still shaky and Sherman had warned him that not everything would come back. A vindictive former employer of Veronica's had placed a pipe bomb on his Wonkavator half a year ago and the resulting explosion had seriously injured Charlie and nearly killed him. Thanks to his miraculous Wonkavite he had healed quickly, now only a few thin scars and some truly awful aches and pains when the weather turned cold and damp remained.

"In either case, too late to crash now. I'm heading to the office to get some work done. You go ahead and get some sleep – I don't want to see you until this afternoon," Willy said absently to Orville.

Trying to bludgeon his brain into recalling any hint about what had been discussed was useless. He'd have to submit to actually _asking_ Spencer or Reggie about it.

_How embarrassing_.

In either case, he'd catch up with her in a few hours once she got up and he'd bounce the idea of her then. A break might do them both good.

Completely distracted by the new train of thought, Willy turned toward his office, oblivious to the sticky mess on his shirt and vest.

----

Orville grinned as he crossed his arms and bowed to the Chocolatier. _Finally!_ He thought with some relief. _They'll set a date and actually be formally bonded. I know Chief Mic-Ka is waiting for these two to settle down and start popping out children for us to play with. _

Discussions had ranged far and wide about the continuing resistance of the two taller people in the natural progression of their relationship. Most of the tribe waited with baited breath for the formal word of their bonding to be announced. The women kept a close eye on Ver-Oni-Ka for any tell-tale signs of morning sickness or a thickening waist. All were frustrated with the lack of progress. Sherman was the sole voice of defense for their employer and his beloved.

"Things will happen in their own time. Our wishes are not always theirs – and sometimes such wishes may not come true at all," Sherman had said, again and again with some hint of sadness in his eyes. When pressed he would maintain his professional confidentiality and change the topic.

_Won-Ka will be a good father no matter what Sherman hints at, _Orville thought. Jerking himself from getting to far ahead into his thoughts of the tribe's plans for their employer, he hurried back toward the village, hoping to share his thoughts with his family once he awoke.

----

The sun peeped over the horizon and directly through the window of the bedroom and into Veronica's closed eyes. Cringing, she rolled over with an inarticulate sound of protest, pulling the covers over her head.

There was a moment of drifting peace as she contemplated allowing the soft grey blanket of sleep to reclaim her. Then the call of duty pulled her mind from its daze and back into the waking world with a brutal snap.

Groaning, Veronica pulled herself upright, batting at the covers and kicking her feet wildly to free herself from the warm cocoon that encased her. Blearily, she unsteadily staggered into the bathroom to brush teeth and pee before pulling her hair back into a messy short ponytail.

After splashing cool water on her face she felt reasonably conscious enough to approach her new habit.

Running.

Pulling on pants, sport bra and long sleeved shirt she stretched out her limbs – feeling the aches and muscle burn of her previous day's exercise.

It was a better habit than her six cups of coffee a day, but it still didn't make mornings any more bearable.

She slid her feet into running shoes and made sure the socks didn't bunch up to leave blisters. Grabbing her decoy hat with its short fringe of dark hair around the perimeter and sunglasses, she made sure her own now distinctive locks were concealed and the dark fringe framed her face appropriately before sliding the glasses home.

A few minutes later had her running up the street in the brisk autumn air, easily finding her pace thanks to the input of the music pulsing through her ears.

She passed the few lingering media quickly, satisfied that they didn't even turn an eye to give her a second glance. Running at the same time every day had made her routine, and the disguise, although simple, deflected their attention enough to let her pass.

She lengthened her stride as one of her favorite songs came on and she had to work hard to maintain the rhythm.

Horrible as cutting short her sleep cycle was, she highly enjoyed the early morning scenery with the sluggish bustle of the city around her. The morning light was kind to the bright colors and personal touches to the row houses of the neighborhoods she ran through. Traffic was light and there were dark blue shadows lurking around cars and buildings adding beautiful contrast to the world around her.

This is the kind of inspiration that kept her going.

Every day people doing every day things.

She contemplated this as she allowed herself to slow to an easy pace once again as the music mellowed. Mothers and fathers guiding sleepy children out the door and off to school or day care. Delivery trucks parked and running in and out of businesses – a few acknowledged her greetings. Birds chirping in the cool air even as the ever growing roar of traffic started to burst in on this scene of tranquility.

This is what life was all about. People from all walks of life wanting better opportunities for their children, worried about paying bills, trying to keep their businesses afloat and wanting a little happiness for themselves.

Veronica was thankful every moment of every day for the opportunities she'd been given. She considered it a calling to see to it that more opportunities like hers was shared with as many people as possible – people who needed and deserved it.

Sighing, she wished for a moment that Willy shared her perspective on giving back. It was the reason Veronica felt such massive guilt saying "no" to the invitations – the ones pleading for her help. He preferred to donate time and money on a case by case basis – to actually get to know the person and make sure their needs were legitimate.

Veronica couldn't fault him on that – but she also wanted to help as many people as possible and the best way to do that was through organizations.

Same goal – different approaches.

She finished her long route and ended up in front of her building with the shadow of the factory looming over her. Veronica slowed to a walk and kept moving – around the corner at the end of the block and climbed the fire escape in the alleyway. The roofs were connected and she easily hopped over the low walls as she headed back toward her building. Pausing to stretch out her hamstrings, she waved at the factory, knowing that at least one if not more of the security cameras was tracking her progress. Smi-Li and his crew took their duties seriously and she always made a point of acknowledging their hard work.

She pulled off her hat and ruffled the damp hair as she opened the door to the stairwell and clattered down the stairs toward her apartment.

To her stunned surprise, the door was ajar and music was pouring out.

Freezing in alarm, she listened for a moment.

An unearthly howl emerged from inside and the sound sent the hair on the back of her neck straight up. The noise keened and tried to match the wail of the electric guitar that was the main melody of the music.

Despite the frisson of primal fear from the horrible noise, she grinned and pushed open the door to survey the source of the emanations.

Willy was dancing around her kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a pancake breakfast, complete with orange juice and the haunting savory scent of bacon. His jacket and hat were off and there was a dark stain of some unknown substance across the chest of his shirt and vest. Unusually, he seemed oblivious to the mess on his clothes and was crooning into a spatula as he worked.

_Something must have distracted him - he was usually so fastidious._

Not sensing her return, he let out another heart-stopping screech as he carefully placed sliced melon carved into whimsical flowers as a garnish on each plate.

It took a massive effort to conceal her laughter at Willy's attempt to sing along with Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Poor man couldn't understand that he had a complete lack of talent when it came to singing. If there was a polar opposite of Pavarotti – he was it. The last time they had tried karaoke, there had been a flood of calls to the suicide hot line and animal control.

"A devil put aside for me…for Me…FOR MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" he shrieked, striking a dramatic pose with arms cast wide.

Veronica closed the door with a thud and Willy jumped, looking guilty. A faint flush crossed his pale cheeks and he cleared his throat nervously, "Good morning my sweet. How was your run?"

"Good. It was lovely. How are you this morning?" she asked amused, dropping the hat and glasses on the table by the front door.

"Fine!" he squeaked, then nervously clearing his throat again, tried for a normal male register this time, "I'm fine. Are you hungry?"

She smile and nodded at his flustered behavior.

He graciously pulled out a chair and allowed her to seat herself before laying the napkin in her lap with a bow.

_He's trying to make up for ditching me last night_, she realized.

Not that she was ticked off at him for using any excuse to miss the dinner – she was more or less annoyed at herself for not coming up with a better excuse to miss herself despite her altruistic leanings.

Veronica snagged the lapel of his jacket as stood, dragging him back down to her seated level. His wide lavender eyes stared surprised into hers and she didn't keep him in suspense for long. Leaning forward she delicately kissed him.

Willy's apprehension melted away and he rested his weight on the back of the chair and the table as Veronica nibbled on his lower lip in a way that made his ears tingle in delight. He returned her kiss with interest and it was a few minutes later that they finally broke apart - breathless.

She released him and opened her eyes, "Thank you. You really didn't have to do all this – you were forgiven as soon as I got home."

Willy's smile rivaled the sun for its brilliance and her heart leapt again at the realization that all that happiness was directed at her.

He sighed theatrically and took his seat across from her at the small table, "Whew! I'm glad you're not too cheesed at me."

Grabbing a strip of bacon, she nibbled at it, "If it gets me breakfast like this on a daily basis…" She sat up straight and with a bored and blank expression in her eye deadpanned, "I'm so pissed. You naughty man. How dare you. How dare you."

Willy had to chuckle at her performance – words usually yelled in anger lost their bite when recited like the lines of a bored actor in some existential play.

She shot him an impish grin and grabbed her orange juice, "There - consider your deviant behavior corrected. Pass the pancakes please."

"I knew there was a good reason I loved you," he said, digging into his food with gusto.

"I thought it was all that wild hot monkey sex?"

"That too…"

Willy gestured at the stack of letters by the side of her plate, "Here – you should probably weed whack through the mail while you eat. Remember what happened last month and you missed your electric bill?"

She grimaced at his pointed reminder. Just because she had the cash didn't make her any better at remembering to pay on time – it just rankled to get reminded of her shortfalls. The bill in question had slid off the mountain of junk mail on the table by the front door and been ignored until the sudden reminder as the lights cut out during a rare movie night on her couch. He'd taken the opportunity to bug her about it weekly ever since.

"If it wasn't for Doris, you wouldn't be in any better state you know," she reminded him, riffling through the pile and eliminating anything that offered a lower mortgage, insulation or health insurance.

She came across a hand-lettered envelope and glanced at the return address while directing a forkful of pancake to her mouth.

Willy glanced up when Veronica froze with the fork half-way to her mouth.

"Veronica?" he asked when she failed to move after almost a minute.

Her expression was muddled. Disbelief, anger and a strange mix of hurt and hope warred across her face.

"Ronnie?" he prodded, resting on hand on her arm.

"Huh?"

"What's that?"

"A letter."

Willy leaned over to read the envelope at an angle.

"Carmichael? Relations of yours?" he asked, not sure what to make of her response.

Veronica managed to shake herself out of her frozen stupor, "No…I mean yes…"

Willy raised an eyebrow at her and she flushed in response, even as she dropped the letter like it was a hot coal, "It's nothing" she finished lamely.

"Hmmm… Nothing which knocks you into a zombie like state," he said archly, reaching out a finger to drag the envelope across the table for his examination.

Her hand snapped down and slammed on top, making him jump, "It's nothing" she insisted with a growl.

Despite that everything her body language was screaming at him to DROP IT, Willy persisted.

"If it's nothing – then you won't mind me taking a look," he challenged.

The conflicted expression was back and he took the opportunity to snag the envelope from under her hand and examine it closer.

"It…It's from my parents," she said shortly, hoping he'd take the hint to put it down.

"Really? I thought you were out of contact with them?"

"I was…I mean I am…this is rather out of the blue." She stuttered.

"So open it and see what they want."

Veronica dropped her fork and tried to run a hand through her hair in agitation, forgetting it was still pulled back in the messy ponytail. The scraggly strands leapt out in wild disarray.

"I'm not interested in what they have to say. Why should they bother me now after all these years?"

No stranger to parental conflict, Willy decided to try a tactic Sherman used that had always worked on him – silence.

"S'not like they cared when I was flat on my back broke and living hand to mouth. They made that quite clear when I refused to not side with them when Reggie came out of the closet." She protested, twisting her hands.

Willy said nothing.

"They have nothing I want to hear," Veronica said miserably, her stomach churning.

He toyed with the envelope, saying nothing, but his invitation was clear as glass to her.

"Fine – you open it," she sighed in exasperation. "If it's more rubbish about family values and the "good decency" of abolishing homosexuality I don't want to hear it."

Taking the butter knife, he slit open the envelope with neat efficiency. He removed the heavy paper and the small puff of air that emerged as he did so carried the faint fragrance of her mother's perfume.

She rocked back at the intensity of the memories that assaulted her with that one small reminder of home. Veronica remembered being cuddled close as a child when frightened or hurt; of the soft voice reading bedtime stories or guiding chubby little fingers in her first attempts in the kitchen. The intensity of the longing to just go home and feel that safe and loved once again was enough to make her breath catch and tears fill her eyes.

Closing her eyes, she had to forcibly remind herself of the time that had passed and that the larger-than-life figures that lingered in her mind as reminders of her childhood had turned out to be regrettably human in their faults.

Willy read the words in silence and she found herself trying to read the words in the change of his expressions instead of the actual paper they were written on. The flickering emotions were too rapid to read and she felt her anxiety rising the longer he held his silence.

"Well?" she asked hoarsely.

Willy set the paper down and the expression of sympathy was so strong that she reeled.

"Veronica – I'm so sorry," he whispered, taking her hand.

"What? What is it?"

"Your father's very ill - your mother is asking you and Reggie to come home."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for the words of support from my readers. You are the kick in the butt that keeps this story moving. I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 3**

The bonds between parent and child were some of the most complex and emotionally trying relationships know to the human race. The hopes and dreams of the parent for a better life for their child and that child's need for the love and support of a guiding adult was the basis of many tragedies.

The promise not to make the same mistakes that their own parents made with them only led to different mistakes as values jumped from one extreme to the other over the course of a generation. The drives of the child to explore the world and discover who they were often ran contrary to the beliefs of the parent and when either failed to grow and adapt as the child reached adulthood often led to unbridgeable divides.

It was a harsh fact – no one was perfect. Even when you needed them to be.

Willy knew this intellectually from his own experiences with his father. After all who was a dentist's arch-enemy but the confectioner that made the candy that generated the dentist's business. The fact that they were the tops of their chosen career fields and strong-willed to boot didn't help things at all.

Despite their fundamental differences, he and his father had made tenuous improvements in their relationship before time had run out. His father had died, not yet fully accepting Willy's chosen profession, yet proud of him all the same. Willy had made sure that the old man had known that he loved him even if the he was unable to capitulate to follow in his footsteps.

The Chocolatier watched Veronica's face as he told her the news with this in mind – prepared to support her. He knew intimately that the horrible news of such limited time left with a parent – regardless of how disconnected – would be a harsh blow.

"Oh? Is that all? Oh well then…" Veronica shrugged and returned her attention back to pancakes with renewed cheer.

He blinked, _Or maybe not…_

As she set about cutting her pancakes into bite sized pieces with her fork, he realized that her nonchalant words were the extent of her reaction to the news.

_Maybe she missed what I said_, Willy thought, hoping it was a misunderstanding and not the beginnings of a psychological break. He knew she felt things intensely – but this reaction just didn't jive.

He slid the letter over to her, resting his hand on her forearm to catch her attention and make her hazel eyes meet his own.

"Veronica, your father is seriously ill. Your mother is asking for you and Reggie to come home and make your peace before he passes on," he said seriously, watching her eyes to ensure comprehension.

Veronica nodded solemnly, "I heard you the first time. Thank you for reading the letter. Please pass the syrup."

Confused, he let go and handed her the maple syrup.

Veronica drizzled some of the sweet liquid over the tender pancakes, her mussed hair caught the early morning light with flashes of warm copper.

She took another bite, casting a questioning look up at him. Realizing he was still staring at her in shock, she sighed.

"Willy. This is not the first letter I've ever gotten from my mother telling me to come home and make peace with my father. He's not sick and he's certainly not dying. This is just another ploy to guilt me into doing whatever they say – it's old hat."

"How do you know that?" he asked, shaking off his stupor.

"Easy," she said, "I'll show you the stack of letters from her starting about three months after I left and ending about a year before we…"

She started to stand, but aborting the movement as a sudden realization hit her.

"Oh wait. They were in my old apartment that went up with the fire," she frowned. "In either case, I know Reggie gets nearly identical letters, although his gets a bit more into the whole 'give up this deviant lifestyle and settle down with this lovely girl I'm sure you'd like to meet…' He's got his stack saved just like I used to. It was a good source of inspiration when things started to go bad and I was tempted to run home with my tail between my legs. "

Veronica pushed away her plate, half finished. The conversation was doing much to curb her appetite.

"My mother uses emotional blackmail like a leash to bring Reggie and I to heel. It took a long time for us to come to that particular realization and to see it for what it was. I refuse to allow myself to be drawn back into that particular poisonous atmosphere and that's why I disregard any further messages trying to do so."

Willy was taken aback at this information. _I thought my Dad and I were dysfunctional…_

"What about your father?" he asked.

Veronica's face tightened and he knew he'd just struck a nerve.

"My father has nothing constructive to say and I have nothing constructive to say to him," she said stiffly. He could see the hurt in her eyes, "There were some cruel world tossed my way the day I made my intentions to leave clear. It's something I can never forgive or forget."

She threw the napkin on the table and stiffly rose, "Thank you for breakfast Willy. I'm sorry if I'm not able to do it justice. I need to take a shower and get ready for the day."

Willy shot to his feet as she moved away from the table, anxious to intercept her, "Veronica! I didn't mean to bring up old family pain. Please…sit down…"

Her body was tense in his arms, "Willy…"

"Please. I'm sorry to upset you," he said earnestly, kissing her forehead.

She hugged him for a long minute and he could feel her body relax by inches. Finally, she took a deep breath and gazed up at him, "It's not your fault – I apologize for being upset with you. You had no way of knowing what kind of family I came from. I shouldn't be taking out my agitation on you."

Willy hugged her close for a long moment before replying, "You don't need to apologize. If I was in similar circumstances and you had snooped the same way I just did, there's no way I would be so gracious as you were. In fact, I'm pretty sure that there would be some shouting, pouting and general hurt feelings all around."

She snorted and he had to chuckle a little himself.

_This amazing woman_, he mused, _I'm the one tramping all over her feelings and yet she's the one trying to make me feel better._

It brought home the idea that Orville was right. They really did need a vacation.

He was brought back to reality as her thin scarred hands crept up to investigate the dry semi-sticky material on the front of his shirt and vest, "What's this?"

Willy flushed slightly, embarrassed to be seen in such a state, "That? Um…yeah…I had a bit of an accident. It's hydraulic fluid. I got a bit distracted…"

Raising an eyebrow, she plucked at the stiff material, "Must have been a humdinger of an idea that hit you to forget about this. You should get cleaned up."

He grinned as she started slipping the numerous buttons free of their confines.

"It was a pretty good idea," he admitted, his throat going dry. "Something I think you'd like…"

Veronica pushed the vest off and let it drop to the floor. Clever fingers immediately went to work on the buttons of his shirt. The feeling of her cool digits against the warm skin of his chest was highly distracting, even if the painful tugs of his chest hair glued to the material of his shirt kept him from grounded.

"How would you feel about taking a vacation with me?" he asked huskily, placing one hand over her fingers to stop her progress for a moment.

She stopped and looked up at him, shirt gaping open halfway undone.

"A vacation? Really? What do you have in mind?" she asked, her enthusiasm for the idea taking flight.

Smirking, he glided his hands down to her narrow waist to tug the close-fitting material upwards, seeking out warm skin.

"Oh…I dunno…someplace quiet…solitude…" he murmured stroking the skin of her back under her shirt.

She closed her eyes and hummed her approval at both his idea and what he was currently doing, "I think the idea bears consideration. Care to discuss it further in the shower? Multi-tasking is the habit of effective people you know."

His voice was like the velvet he usually wore, "I thought you'd never ask."

----

The loading docks were busy with the clatter of conveyer belts rolling brown boxes of candy into the backs of Wonka Inc. trucks for delivery. Tiny figures stacked the boxes neatly, double checking addresses to ensure the correct box was on the correct truck.

One of the tiny figures in bright blue coveralls noticed that one of the boxes had come loose. Frowning, he flipped open the box to examine its contents to ensure that nothing was missing or had jarred loose. Satisfied, he closed the box and re-taped it shut with the industrial packing tape he carried like a gun at his side. He nudged the box back into position and returned to loading the truck.

His partner watched his actions and relaxed minutely as the box was resealed and returned without comment. His last minute addition had escaped notice. He checked the address again to ensure that he had slipped his message into the appropriate box. The delivery was due to a post office box here in town – an ordinary delivery since some of their customers preferred to skip the store and directly receive their treats.

He went back to work, adding the last boxes before stepping out and hoisting his co-worker up onto his shoulders with the rest of the packing team to reach the strap that closed the back of the truck. He grunted slightly as the team leader tugged the strap and one by one the other Oompa Loompas jumped off his shoulders to land lightly as the door closed.

He secured the lock and moved on to the next vehicle with a small ember of dark satisfaction glowing at his success.

His message would be collected along with the chocolate treats from the post office and passed along to the right person – a person he'd met on one of the rare excursions outside the walls of the factory. The person who was so sympathetic to the bewilderment of a member of the tribe and provided an impartial ear to the complaints about the way things were run inside.

This kindly man offered to provide guidance and assistance to those like him who were dissatisfied with the way their tribe had turned from their past and now seemed to be content to be mere slave labor to the tall man called their Savior.

The man hadn't asked anything of him in return for this assistance and guidance – that would have put him on guard. Even if he didn't agree with Won-Ka or Chief Mic-Ka, he wouldn't betray their secrets to an outsider in spite. This man was just interested in hearing about the tribe and their working relationship with the Chocolatier.

Sighing, he silently grabbed a box from the end of the belt and started his work again, mindlessly stacking boxes for delivery. It was a highly dissatisfying life and he wanted to see more…do more outside.

If there was anyone who understood and might hold the key to getting out of the factory…

…Cornelius Prodnose was that man.

----


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for the words of support from my readers. You are the kick in the butt that keeps this story moving. I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thank you for your patience during the protracted updating period. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 4**

Dim sunlight filtered in through the half-closed drapes, capturing the lazy dance of dust motes in the air of the large office. Dark, formal furniture with gently worn Persian rugs covering worn wooden floors gave the impression of a long-established legal office of some distinguished law practice instead of the home office of a confectioner.

Cornelius Prodnose had never been one for the more flamboyant showmanship of his rival Willy Wonka. He looked with mild distaste at the loud colors and strange quirks that went with the wildly popular Chocolatier. His own stately business was marketed toward the more discerning palate of chocolate-lovers in the world – those who could appreciate quality over quantity.

However, that didn't mean that any and all developments that happen to come his way from the loud braggart were to be ignored though. The last creation of Wonka's that had fallen into his hands was still listed as one of his top sellers thanks to the flavor development of the "never-melting ice cream".

Prodnose nudged the square-framed reading glasses further up his nose and re-read the hand-written note from his informant inside the factory of his competitor. His square-fingered hands with the rough-tips of one who enjoyed working with his hands carefully examined the paper and looked for minute clues to the real situation inside the factory.

Apparently there was a small contingent of the native workers that Wonka had mysteriously imported that were not happy with their arrangements. They were pressing for more exposure outside the factory and something besides menial labor as a profession.

Squinting, he examined the handwriting. It was with a practiced hand, easy in reading and writing – none of the tense, cramped lettering of the barely literate. His initial impression held as he reread the phrasing – quite eloquent and educated. The paper was a light lilac tinge and a quick sniff and taste of one corner of the page revealed it to be one of Wonka's patented eatable paper in grape.

Prodnose huffed in mild surprise and pleasure. This looked like a promising lead into the inner workings of Wonka's mysterious factory – he'd have to cultivate this malcontent and see what could be done to spread that unease among the other members of the tribe.

He carefully placed the note and its envelope in a lockbox in the lower drawer of his desk and secured it prior to returning his attention back to the other papers on his desk.

Running a business was not a frivolous business, despite whatever his competitor thought. Wonka had built his empire over the course of a few years and Prodnose knew that it would fade just as quickly.

Prodnose was proud of his confectionery heritage and took his calling seriously. Prodnose Confections had been in business for almost a hundred years, passed from father to firstborn son without break for just as long. His own son was already working in the R & D department after a internship in the finance division in preparation of one day taking the reins of the company. He would do anything to ensure his legacy would pass down and if that meant doing seedy business to eliminate Wonka to make things easier, so be it.

******

"So, Mum is back up to her old tricks again," stated Reggie as he slid onto the bar stool next to Veronica at the counter of his kitchen.

Rather than restating the obvious she grunted and took a sip of coffee from the big orange mug in front of her.

Reggie nodded, "Yeah, that's what I thought. I got one yesterday too – although I had to restrain Spencer from immediately replying."

She snorted. Anything Spencer would contribute to the situation would not make things any easier. Her brother's spouse was well-known for his scathing opinion of their parents.

"Couldn't you imagine Mum's face reading anything Spence sends as a reply?" she asked slyly, shooting a side-long glance at him.

Reggie could all too well. He imagined their ever-so-proper mother in her prim designer slacks and button-down shirt with the ever present string of pearls at her throat with lipsticked mouth gaping open in aghast horror at the sweetly poisonous words carved into the paper before her.

"Might be worth it at that," he mused, nibbling on one of the cookies he'd set out before her.

He'd been surprised at Veronica's visit that afternoon. She'd explained that she'd been in the neighborhood after delivering one of her commissioned pieces and wanted to stop by and say hello.

"Okay – since I am not one for avoiding the proverbial pachyderm in the room, what is so different this time around? I mean we've gotten letters before, why are you sitting over here brooding over it this time?" Reggie asked, running his hands through his thick brown hair.

Veronica cradled the hot cup in her hands, savoring the warmth as it chased the chill that crept up her arms as she contemplated his question.

"I think it has a lot to do with where I am today," she said slowly, sorting through her thoughts and feelings on the matter, "I mean it was one thing, going along in my own little oblivious world trying to scrape by on my own. Now, here I am – a year older and wiser. Over the past year met Willy, become a multi-millionaire, fallen in love, gotten kidnapped and nearly killed by a psychopath – it's those kind of things that make you realize that life is too short for grudges. It's also made me reexamine how things got left with Mum and Dad and makes me wonder if just cutting them off was the right thing."

Reggie just stared at her for a moment, "Thank you for that lovely after-school special moment on what it means to be a mature adult. However, may I point out that these are the same people who told you to basically "get over" what Mucus…I mean Marcus had done to you?"

Flinching, Veronica nodded, "They're not perfect – no one is. That particular example was a doozy. But it was also more than a couple of years ago and we've both grown since then. I'm not saying we should open our hearts and minds, I'm just saying let's make damn sure our initial impressions were correct before writing them off entirely."

Picking up his own empty mug, he rinsed it out before placing it in the dishwasher, "I have to admit, there were moments – far and few between mind you – where I'd wondered the same thing. We were both pretty young the last time we had contact with them and I wonder how much was them and how much was us?"

"So are we basically thinking the same thing? To give them a last chance once and for all?" Veronica asked, feeling herself hold her breath in anticipation.

Reggie grimaced but nodded, "Rather than jump into this whole thing blindfolded, let's try something first.

He set the phone on the breakfast bar between them and met her eyes challengingly.

"I'll make the call and put it on speakerphone. There's no way in hell I'm wasting a weekend to go up and talk to them if we can't manage civility during a simple phone call." He offered, hitting the hands free button.

The droning tone echoed emptily through the room. Veronica's face was creased in doubt.

As the tone skipped into the annoying bleat of a phone left off the hook for too long, she reached out and hit the button again, hanging up.

"I…I can't. Not yet anyway. I need to figure out what to say first," she said.

Nodding, Reggie returned the phone to its resting place, "Right. Just keep that thought in mind when you threaten to go all reasonable again."

"Sorry Reggie. It just got to me after Willy found the letter this morning and asked me about it. I was working and it suddenly struck me that just ignoring them had become more of a habit than any real desire to do so.

Their conversation was interrupted by the front door opening and Spencer staggered in. His face was stressed and worried. There were dark circles under his eyes and his strong jaw was peppered with stubble from where he missed shaving. When he saw that he wasn't alone a genial mask fell over his features.

"Good evening all, " Spencer said lightly as he came in with an armful of groceries. "Ronnie – lovely to see you again out of the batcave."

"Did you get me the parmesan cheese?" Reggie asked, digging through the bags and putting things away with quick efficient movements - seemingly ignorant of his lover's slightly harried appearance.

_Must have been just a restless night_, she thought. Veronica was silent, enjoying watching how the two interacted with each other.

"Yes, it's in the bag isn't it?" Spencer said irritated.

Reggie came up holding a green canister with a look of profound disgust on his face, "What is this?"

"The cheese?" Spencer asked "See, there are these clever little things called letters and you line them up and sound them out and they make what we call 'words'. That particular canister has a special one that says 'parmesan' on it as well."

Reggie gave Spencer a look that was eerily similar to the one her mother had used on him when he'd announced that he was gay. That what was being said was so profoundly stupid that the listener could not have possibly heard what had just been said.

"Kraft Parmesan cheese?"

Spencer looked tired and irritated and there was a level of warming in his voice that didn't get used too often, "Very good. Now if we can move beyond stating the obvious and get to pulling some dinner together, I'd be grateful."

"What happened to stopping by the deli to grab a chunk of genuine Italian Parmesan from the Emile-Romania region to make my famous lasagna?" Reggie asked annoyed, overlooking the warning from his partner.

Spencer took a deep breath, and even Veronica could see him biting back the words he wanted to say. Instead, he explained, "The line at the deli was at least an hour long. I've had a very long day and grabbed the nearest substitute."

She gave Reggie a warning look to leave the poor man alone, which he just as naturally ignored.

"I can't cook with this! This stuff is recycled sawdust. It taste like crap and I refuse to cook crap," Reggie snapped.

Wincing, Veronica leaned back and started to work her way as unobtrusively as possible out of the line of fire.

"Fine. Don't cook then. I wouldn't want to you to put yourself out to actually contribute anything after all," Spencer snarled, his thin tether to his temper snapping. "Heaven and saints forfend that you lower yourself to the domestic task of actually cooking for the one you love. After all, you're just so bloody busy with your buggering theater schedule of rehearsals to spend more than five minutes in my company. "

There was a true note of bitterness in his voice that clued Veronica that things were not all peaches and cream between the lovers.

"Despite that everyone else on your crew gets the time off to actually go home and eat a meal once in a while, you're too bloody busy to even bother to change your clothes." Spencer ranted, waving his arms in the air.

"It's two weeks before opening and the star had to be replaced due to pregnancy. What the hell do you expect me to do? The producers are expecting me to train her replacement in time for opening," Reggie shouted back, his face flushed an ugly red.

"Too busy to let me know what's going on? Just expecting your home cleaned, your meals delivered," Spencer snarled his face flushing. "...your clothes washed?"

"What the hell is your problem? I'm busy with work, what do you expect?" Reggie said, frustrated with this sudden verbal attack.

"I expect a bit of fidelity you stupid bastard," Spencer yelled, tears gleaming in his eyes.

Something in Veronica went cold and still at Spencer's words.

Reggie sneered, "What are you talking about?"

"_I found his letter_!" Spencer cried, tears running from his eyes and down his cheeks. Veronica felt like she'd been punched in the chest and could only stare in disbelief at her brother as the blood drained from his face.

Oh god, not this.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Reggie said coldly, trying to rally his defense.

"Since I'm the one doing laundry – you might as well have tossed it in my face," Spencer sobbed. "I found the letter in your pocket. I could smell the cologne on your shirt. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Reggie looked confused for a moment and then as if a dawning light illuminated him, he relaxed and looked relieved, "Spence…" he tried to reach out for the man, but Spencer was having nothing of it.

"Don't touch me. Don't … just don't," he hissed, glaring at Reggie.

"It's not what you think…"

"I'm not an idiot, Reginald. Don't you dare speak to me in such a condescending manner."

Reggie had the gall to actually looked amused at his partner's pain.

Veronica felt lost as she watched the anguish on Spencer's face. Suddenly furious with her brother for being so thick she growled, "You'd better explain yourself Reginald Evelyn Carmichel."

Spencer looked momentarily startled that she was there, he shot her an embarrassed look, "Sorry Ronnie, I didn't mean to lose it like this with you here…"1

She crossed and embraced the broken man, glaring at her brother all the while. "You never mind that right now Spence – Reggie's got a story to tell."

Seeing that he was outnumbered and on the hot seat, Reggie sighed, "Fine! Spence – you are right. I have been spending far too much time at work. The production isn't going well and it's on the verge of going under. Hiring the replacement at the last possible moment and getting her ready is the last hope."

"And what does this have to do with a letter and the cologne?" she asked, feeling the tremor of emotion running through the man in her arms.

"I'm getting to that," Reggie snapped, running his hands through his hair and looking antagonized.

"Despite the rumors going around about Brittany being a no-talent hack, she's actually got some good chops for dancing. She's been working hard and the letter is from her – thanking me for taking the time to ensure she doesn't make a complete ass of herself. As for the 'see you tonight, handsome' that's referring to the rehearsal in about three hours time. You can even come with me if you'd like to see that I'm on the up-and-up."

"The cologne…now that's a bit harder to explain and just slightly incriminating for me," he muttered, looking both angry and embarrassed now.

"Brittany's male partner for one particular number had been having problems….serious problems. I had to completely change his choreography around and he hasn't quite got it. Frankly, I had my suspicions about the source of his problems since he didn't seem to have any problems on any other piece…anyway." Reggie shrugged. "I had to resort to dancing Brittany's part while she was off in some legal meeting to get him to understand what I was trying to get him to do. Things got a little…heated."

"Heated?" Spencer asked in a small voice, his eyes tragic and imaging the worst.

"Yeah – like me made a move on me and I had to resort to drastic measures to get him to stop," Reggie wasn't meeting anyone's eyes now and was studying the contents on the cupboard with curious intent.

"What happened?" Veronica asked.

"I had to punch him in the gut. He complained and there was this whole big thing…luckily, the director knew me and vouched that I wasn't the type to put moves on any man who wasn't you Spence and he got fired. So that leaves me even more in a lurch since I'm back to training yet another dancer and putting me even further behind at work….it's just this whole fiasco. I'm sorry Spencer. I really am."

"So – you weren't …" Spencer whispered, looking down at the floor.

"No – never, my darling. I could never do that to you. I'd like you to come to rehearsal with me tonight just so you can double check my story about what happened if you like," Reggie said, reaching for Spencer's hand to draw him out of Veronica's arms and into his own. "I love you and only you. You're my life."

Satisfied that the crisis had passed, she smiled at the two men, "I'll leave you two to kiss and make up."

She kissed them both on the cheek and collected her coat and bag and quickly left the apartment.

Reggie just adsorbed the feeling of having the man he loved held close in his arms and felt the stress of the past few weeks start to drain away. Spencer kissed him tenderly and they smiled gently at each other.

"Misunderstanding aside, I do appreciate everything you do for me," Reggie murmured. "I don't ever want to take you for granted."

"Me either – I love you and you're too important to me to lose over a simple problem in communication," Spencer said, yielding to Reggie's arms.

"Once this whole thing blows over – let's get out of here for a few days. A little break for you and me," Reggie breathed even as his thoughts took a more carnal turn. "Someplace warm where clothing is optional."

"I like that idea," Spencer said. "And I will join you for rehearsal, if nothing else but to keep lustful chorus dancer's hands off your bum."

Whatever reply Reggie made was lost as Spencer closed in to make up for lost time.

Lasagna and Parmesan cheese were never mentioned.


	5. Chapter 5

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Christmas season approaches and I'm robbing the extra time between seconds to get this written. The story will not be denied! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 5**

Reinvigorated from his time spent with Veronica, a shower to clean up and a brief cat-nap on her couch (Man, he loved that couch! All wide and snuggly and long enough he could stretch his length without cocking one arm or leg over the side and getting that weird neck cramp…) Willy approached the invention room with a new spring in his step, whistling merrily.

Rather than tidying up previous leads for new inventions, he clapped his hands together with glee and decided to start a new project. He had been drowsing on that wonderful couch and suddenly it hit him…water mints! For those time when your mouth felt all dry and throat parched and no matter how much you drank it seemed like it was never enough. Willy imagined eating some kind of jelly candy that eased that terrible thirst and lubricated the throat.

He paused while rinsing a beaker as he was struck by a thought. The medical implications might cause some problems – after all excessive thirst was a symptom of diabetes, which candy would exacerbate. Not to mention the whole, if-I'm-stuck-in-a-desert-wouldn't-just-eating-a-bag-of-these-take-care-of-dying-of-dehydration thing.

_Okay – reexamination of the idea, let's go with something that is cool and soothing without making the grand claims of providing rehydration as well. Although…_

Willy pondered the problem from all angles as he absently examined his materials. Most of the flasks were clearly labeled - a step toward improvement since Charlie started working with him. Briskly he uncapped each and sniffed to ensure that they were at their prime potency and not starting to sour.

He was just considering the pros and cons of actually making a hydrating candy when his nose was assaulted with a sour stench. Gagging, he clapped the top back on the container and waited for his nose to clear and his stomach to stop churning. "Madagascar Vanilla?" Willy murmured to himself, "That usually has a pretty good shelf life even without binders." He looked over the dates and noted to his surprise that the extract was only about a week old.

"That's weird," He said frowning. Reaching over, he tapped the intercom, "Hey Squidge? Could you come up here for a moment?"

He tapped the lid of the flasks, running through explanations of why his vanilla had gone bad so quickly. Squidge was the inventory master for the factory. It was his job to quality check all incoming shipments to ensure freshness, quantity and to make sure no tampering by his competitors took place.

Charlie called Willy paranoid when first introduced to Squidge and explained what he did. Squidge frowned at the boy and pulled out his logbook detailing the six shipments to date that had been contaminated - one large one recently with a plastic derivative. The Oompa Loompa had more than earned his yearly bonus with that particular catch. The contamination had tripped up one of his other competitors and the scare had rocked the news for the next three weeks causing their stock to be yanked off the shelves and sent sales of his chocolate rocketing.

The elderly Oompa Loompa with his heavy log book and tiny glasses situated on the end of his nose entered the room. Unlike most of the other Oompa Loompa workers, he did not bow before the Chocolatier. Advanced age and a certain familiarity with working with the taller man had given Squidge a certain relaxed attitude toward him. Squidge nodded at Willy, "Good Morning, Wonka. You've got a certain gleam in your eye. Yes?"

"I did. Until I caught a whiff of this," Willy said, handing the flask toward the tiny man.

Sighing, Squidge set the book aside and took the flask, subjecting it to legendary scrutiny.

"Hmm…color is within parameters for vanilla from the equator…looks like Sri Lanka…no Madagascar. Viscosity is a bit thick, what's with the streaks?" The black eyes examined each minute clue, but not once glanced at the label in his own handwriting. Only after a minute visual inspection did he crack the lid and take a light sniff. Wrinkling his nose, Squidge recoiled slightly, his eyes behind their glasses watering. "Ammonia? That's not right…too sweet."

Willy leaned back with his arms crossed across his chest watching his expert work. None was better finding the minute imperfections in his working material. When the warriors of the tribe carved their spears in preparation for their ceremonies, it was Squidge who inspected their work.

Squidge frowned ferociously at the liquid, "Not contaminate – decay. Something has caused the vanilla to decay at an accelerated rate."

"Is this out of the general stock?" Willy asked, sunny mood evaporating.

Squidge froze, "Yes it is."

Willy slammed his hand onto the intercom, "Attention in the factory! Any and all productions using Madagascar vanilla cease and desist. Immediately bring samples of the stock up to the invention room for urgent inspection."

Turning to Squidge he said, "I need you to inspect what we've got and give me a tally on our supplies. I'm going to start digging to find out if this is an isolated case or other businesses are affected."

He pulled on his jacket and collected his top hat from the rack, "Check out the Mexican vanilla and make sure that's not souring as well. We can use that for substitutions for now, but we need to track down what's causing it."

Squidge nodded, still staring at the liquid in the flask, "You're the boss."

Willy raced up to his office, cane gripped in one hand and the other clutching at his hat, coat tails flapping his wake.

"Doris! I need you to check the scuttlebutt in Madagascar…" he started as he entered the administrative area.

"Dolbe and Mercura have already turned up with problems," Doris reported, handing him a sheaf of papers three steps ahead of him as usual, "The vanilla beans have some sort of fungal infection according to them. Slugworth and Ficklegruber have already filed complaints with their exporters and nothing out of Prodnose yet. The market is starting to catch on and other suppliers in the area are struggling."

"Which drives up the price on the Mexican counterpart…boogers!" Willy swore lightly as he scanned the papers. "Wait…a fungal infection?"

His mind raced a million miles a minute. Fungal infection of crops could only mean two things at large, treatment or burning the mess to the ground. \

The second option had to be avoided at all lengths since that particular species of vanilla was gave his chocolate that particular trademark fragrance and flavor. Anything else just wouldn't be the same.

"Get me Dobe and Mercura on the line. I need to talk to them," he ordered shortly, striding into his office.

Tossing his hat onto the coat rack and stripping off the coat, Willy caught himself wishing that Charlie was here. This was a valuable experience that the budding confectioner needed to have under his belt and once again he found his heir locked up in the institutional prison they call school.

"Necessary schooling my white hiney," he grumbled, moving a stack of papers from the center to one of the precarious stacks in the chair across from his desk. "He's never going to get the factory under his belt until he's done with college or longer at this rate."

_Lovely people as the Buckets were, they were still slaves to convention_, Willy mused as he waited for Doris to connect him to the far off island. He tried offering up his own experiences outside the normal school curriculum as an example, but for some reason the hard knock lessons he had to learn as a child on his own only cemented their determination to give Charlie a _normal_ upbringing. Go figure!

His musings were cut short as the phone on his desk chirped merrily. He grabbed it up before the first ring could die away. "Mr. Mecura on the line for you," Doris warned before clicking the transfer through.

Through the long hour and a half conversation, Willy's initial estimates of the impact of the fungal infection turned out to be both better and worse than anticipated - better in the fact that it was limited to the only one specific species of orchid that produced the precious vanilla beans on the island, but worse in the fact that it was was the most valuable export of the country. The infection threatened the whole balance of the Madagascar economy.

Not something he could let happen.

An idea was dawning in his mind - something so wild and outrageous that it just had to work. It would wrap up several problems for him at the same time.

"Senor Mecura, would you mind if I and several associate experts came to survey the problem?" Willy asked, tapping at his teeth with one gloved hand.

"Mr. Wonka, at this point I don't care if his holiness the pope showed up to perform an exorcism, as long as a viable solution was offered," the man said tiredly.

"Let me work some things out and I'll contact you a little bit later...about two hours?" Willy promised.

"A bit after quitting time, but I'll be here," Mercura agreed and they rang off.

Willy grabbed the phone and eagerly dialed a familiar number, he was biting his bottom lip in anticipation when the other end picked up, "Hello?"

"Veronica! Ah, your ever sweet tones are music to my ears," he purred, playing with a pencil.

"Willy! Considering we just saw each other for breakfast, I have to wonder what prompted this kind of lavish attention? Surely you can't be missing me already?" she asked playfully. There was a low-level chatter of background noise from wherever she was.

"Why not? I was missing you as soon as you slipped out of bed you naughty girl. Come back and I'll show you how much," he grinned.

"You'd never be able to keep up darling. Seriously, what's up? Is everything alright?" Veronica asked.

"All insults to my stamina aside – and I will be addressing this issue with you later by the way – how would you feel about taking a little trip with me sooner rather than later?" Willy asked slowly.

"Hmmm…depends on how long and where."

"Length undetermined but no more than a month and the destination somewhat of a surprise," he said evasively aware that they were talking on a cell phone, "I'll tell you if you agree to go. Incidentally, where are you anyway?"

"Coffee shop – getting my fix. Reggie and Spencer were…occupied by other matters and I left to give them some time to work it out," She said. "Let me think on it – I'm heading back to my apartment anyway to work on some designs. If you're still coming over for lunch, I can let you know for sure then?"

Willy rubbed the back of his neck, "Things are a bit ugly here at the moment. I've got some problems I'm tackling. Could you come find me at lunchtime and let me know?"

Veronica slurped her coffee over the phone and Willy winced. She knew how much that bugged him.

"Maybe, but I still need a couple of hints though."

"What happened to your sense of adventure?" he whined.

"Says the man who hasn't left home under his own motivation for how many years?" she fired back.

"I'm changing my ways, honestly! I'm actually planning a trip out and away for more than a week, what more do you want?"

"Tell me where and I'll tell you if I want to join you," she argued.

"How about broad hints? I don't feel comfortable talking specifics on an open line in public," he counter-attacked.

"Hit me."

"Alright. I'm going to give you hints to three movie titles that should give you an idea, ready?"

"Ooh! A challenge…I like this already"

"Shush heathen! The rock in a hard place..."

"Was the heathen comment a clue too?"

"No...now listen, Flowers and Candies for pretty rocks..."

"....um, what are you smoking again? How was that a clue?"

Willy rubbed his hand over his face in exasperation, it would take half the time if she'd just come to him and ask!

"It was a clue and a good one if you've got a working brain," he said peevishly, "Now do you want the third one or not?"

"Rock in a hard place, candies and flowers for pretty rocks...okay, what is the third hint?" Veronica asked, banter aside for the moment.

"Annoying animals who sing that stupid dance song," he said with finality. If she wanted anything more specific than that, she'd just have to haul buns over to the factory and ask him herself.

"Gee...that last one encompasses half of Disney and most of children's programming, but I think I know what you mean. Was it the one we saw a few weeks ago and your crew decided to produce their own remix for our viewing pleasure?" She asked, half laughing at the memory of his annoyed face.

"That's the bunny."

"Okay - I think I can figure out the rest of the clues and the last was a dead giveaway. Thank you for taking such mercy on my squishy brain. I would be delighted to make it up to you tonight if you please," she said, moving away from the sounds and what sounded back out onto the street. "The answer is yes if the last clue is what I think it is. Sounds like a blast," Veronica said with glee.

"Great! Come see me at lunchtime and we'll work out the rest. I love you Candy Cane," Willy smiled at the enthusiasm in her voice.

"Love you too Candy Man," She said and clicked off.

Willy found himself grinning despite the grim task laying ahead of him. For the first time he was facing such a challenge with the woman he loved by his side. It made him feel fifteen feet tall and ready to take on the world...or at least save the sinking economy of a third world country.

"Doris? Could you make travel arrangements for Ms. Carmichael and I to visit the vanilla bean producers?" he called out the open door of his office to his diminutive secretary outside, "We're going to Madagascar!"


End file.
